


Who Will Save You Now

by Wildchild_fallenangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon!Dean, Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe in Miracles?, Feelings, Gen, Season 9, Spoilers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:06:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildchild_fallenangel/pseuds/Wildchild_fallenangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean is killed by Metatron, Sam attempts to summon Crowley to demand help. Someone else shows up instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Will Save You Now

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER ALERT: Post-9x23 "Do You Believe In Miracles"
> 
> Song title taken from a song by Les Friction.
> 
> This is the first fic I've ever written so I apologize if it's not the greatest! I'd love some constructive criticism, so feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments.

As he wakes up, the first thing he registers is the taste of blood. Immediately Sam panics, waiting for the inevitable rush of addictive power and questioning how someone  ( _who?_ ) could have gotten demon blood into his system again, after all these years. When the telltale power-kick never comes, his panic subsides. Relief flows through him as he concludes that the metallic taste isn’t demon blood. 

With that reassurance, he begins to take in his surroundings. He is sitting at a desk in the Men of Letters bunker, the safest place in the world. The room is dark and empty, spotless but for a used glass and a bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. 

Seeing the alcohol triggers his memory and makes his breath catch in his throat. All at once, he realizes what must have happened. He must have passed out after drinking too much; the blood in his mouth must be his own, and he must have bitten his tongue while he was crying - crying…

_Dean._

A fresh wave of grief crashes over him, making him wish he hadn't already drained the bottle on the table. He is simultaneously overcome with the desire to do two things: to lay down to die beside his brother and to kill anyone even remotely responsible for Dean's death. As appealing as the first idea sounds - and God, it does...what he wouldn't give to be able to put an end to his never-ending misery and be back with his brother - he can't. He knows there is no such thing as "the easy way out" for a Winchester. Sam owes it to his brother to try to save or at least avenge him, especially after he failed to look for him when he was in Purgatory. Dean had been gone without a trace then, but this time Sam saw exactly what happened to him…

Images of his brother's body flash in his mind without permission or warning, causing a small, strangled noise to escape him. Combined with the blood in his mouth and the amount of alcohol he consumed, Sam feels like he's going to be sick. And then, after the few steps it takes to reach the bathroom, he is.

He's a mess, spitting out blood and heaving up bile that smells like whiskey. With that, the tears start to flow again. He berates himself in between coughs for allowing himself to become such a wreck. Once his throat is sore from vomiting and sobbing, he clutches the sink to steady himself. He wipes his mouth with a shaking hand as he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, only to be filled with disgust. Red-rimmed eyes stare back at him, the sign of a grieving man. 

He releases a deep breath and splashes cool water on his face, demanding himself to focus  _for Dean, god dammit, for Dean, for Dean for Dean for Dean_.  It is only that thought that carries him from the bathroom, through the bunker, and to the dungeon. 

When he makes it there, he stands in the doorway, taking in the sight of a spell that had been prepared. A sigil is drawn on the floor in chalk, with three black candles at various points around it and a bronze bowl sitting in the center. Books on summoning rituals lay open on either side of the sigil, along with jars of miscellaneous substances. Dean must have used all of this to summon Crowley.

Contempt at the thought makes him grimace. He can’t stand the fact that Dean sought out Crowley for help, the freaking King of Hell, the demon who manipulated them and screwed them over countless times. Crowley is the one who led Dean to this, convincing him to take on the Mark of Cain and find the First Blade all so he could kill Abaddon. 

“Damn it, Crowley,” he growls through clenched teeth. “You got him into this mess.” With an unsteady breath, he kneels to the ground in front of the summoning materials. “You will get him out, or so help me god…” 

He grabs a matchbox, removes a single match, and strikes it against the box. After relighting the candles, he throws the match into the bronze bowl with an easy flick of his wrist, sending up a shower of sparks. He stands slowly, glaring down at the flames as anger rises within him.

“Come on, you coward. COME ON!”

Sam’s hands curl into fists and his chest heaves as he scans the still-empty room. He has to close his eyes for a moment to stay calm, to remind himself that even if it means waiting, he needs to find Crowley. _For Dean. For -_

Dean stands in front of him when he reopens his eyes. Sam staggers back, digging his thumb into his palm to check if he’s hallucinating.

"Dean?" he gasps incredulously.

The image of what seems to be his brother doesn’t disappear. When Sam last saw his brother, he was laying blood-stained and lifeless on the cot in his room. This man, this  _thing_ that looks like Dean is wearing a clean outfit and a cocky grin, looking for all the world like he just strolled out of his bedroom to leave for a hunt on any regular old day. This can’t be Dean. Sam remembers carrying Dean into the bunker and cleaning the blood off of his body just last night. He remembers standing over him and knowing he was gone.

“Hiya, Sammy,” not-Dean smirks.

Sam stumbles as he tries to move further away. “You’re not my brother,” he says darkly.

Not-Dean strides toward Sam, countering him. “What, you don’t recognize your own flesh and blood?”

“I saw Dean die. If you’re him, then what the hell happened?” Sam questions. Suspicion is laced in his voice, in his cautious steps and narrowed eyes.

"Oh, you know how it is. We never really seem to stay dead." The thing that looks like Dean tilts his head slightly, his eyes boring into Sam's as they flicker black.

Seeing Dean reappear was enough of a shock, but this nearly makes Sam’s heart stop. His muscles tense up defensively and his brain whirs as he processes what he's seeing.

Possible explanations for the scenario run through his head and every one of them sucks. Did some demon possess his brother's corpse? But Dean still had his anti-possession tattoo. Maybe it had been cut or burned off…

"Who are you and what did you do to him?" Sam asks, his brutal tone demanding an answer. He pulls the demon blade from his back pocket and grips it so hard that his knuckles turn white.

The demon rolls his eyes, which have flickered back to green. Sauntering around the dungeon, he throws Sam another wry glance and responds, "Listen, Sammy. I'm still me. Just...new and improved.”

Sam feels his stomach drop. Dean’s final moments replay in his mind, making him sick with horror and guilt. He remembers Dean’s resignation, how he thought it better to die than become something he didn’t want to be. But he can't afford to think of that right now, not when there's a demon claiming to be his brother right in front of him. He swallows down his erupting emotions and begins to speak Latin words that roll effortlessly off his tongue.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-”

Before he can continue, the demon swings his hand around to send Sam flying across the room. Ruby’s knife is knocked out of his hand, and the brick wall he hits cracks upon impact. His body remains restrained against the wall, held in position half a foot off the floor by the demon’s will. Sam winces and grits his teeth in pain while the demon chuckles cruelly.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“Omnis...satanica...potestas...omnis incursio...infernalis-”

“You always were a pain in the ass.”

Suddenly Sam’s insides feel as though they are on fire, like every nerve ending has been set ablaze and is turning to ash. An anguished scream claws its way out of his throat. His body writhes in agony, so much that his back arches against the wall. Panting heavily, he fights to use the remains of his energy and oxygen to finish the exorcism.

“Oh, cut the crap, would you?” the demon snaps. His indignant glare morphs into something more malevolent as he places a single finger to his lips in a shushing motion. With that gesture, Sam’s voice is cut off. He struggles to push out the rest of the words, but no sound escapes him. Terror etches itself onto his face as he stares helplessly at the thing wearing his brother’s body.

The thing stalks nearer, closing in on him. “I learned a few new tricks recently,” he leers. “What do ya say we try some out, have a little fun?”

Sam maintains a steely glare, refusing to display his inner turmoil. With every passing second he becomes increasingly desperate to reach past the demon and get through to his brother. 

Unable to speak, all he can do is watch powerlessly as the demon steps directly in front of him, far too close for comfort. Dean’s lips curl into a sneer and his hand shoots up to grab Sam’s face. Sam strains his neck upwards, but Dean’s hands grip his cheeks roughly and pull his head down. Neither brother's gaze wavers as their eyes lock.

Up until this moment, Sam had been contemplating which would be worse - if this were some terrible demon possessing his brother's corpse, or if somehow the demon really was Dean. He’d chosen to accept the first possibility, unable to bear the thought of the second. Now, face to face and as close as two people can get without pressing themselves together, there's no denying it. Sam knows his brother better than anyone else, and he knows this demon is him. He also knows without a doubt that this answer is much worse.

His thoughts are interrupted as Dean - god, it hurts to think of the monster in front of him as Dean - reveals the First Blade and holds the tip to his throat. He presses down hard, adding just enough pressure that red blooms to the surface of Sam’s skin. 

_How did this happen?_ Sam wonders.  _How did we end up like this?_ He wants to scream, not from the physical pain, but from frustration and despair. Still, he cannot make a sound. Instead he tries to block out the torture while mentally assessing the situation, trying to find a logical explanation.

All he can think is that the Mark of Cain must be the cause. Maybe the bearer of the Mark had to be a demon in order to control its power. Cain was a demon, after all. But how could Dean be dead one minute and a demon the next? 

A sharp, abrupt slap stings Sam’s face.

He can save the problem-solving for later.

“Look at me,” Dean growls, his gaze scrutinizing Sam. It sends a chill through him, a harsh contrast from the comfortable warmth he usually feels around his brother. “What, nothing to say? You gotta give me more than that. C’mon, now. I wanna hear you  suffer. ”

The First Blade slices through Sam’s cheek in the same instant that his vocal cords regain the ability to function. This time a cry of pain does squeeze out of him, unexpected. He clamps his mouth down to contain the rest as soon as he realizes it had been audible - and exactly what Dean wanted.

Dean breaks out a wicked smile, as if Sam just gave him the greatest gift in the world. “That’s more like it." He twists the Blade in his hand. “Alright, where should we start?” His eyes lock on Sam with a predatory intensity that says he’s ready to pounce. “How ‘bout Sammy’s greatest hits?”

With a tortured glance downward, Sam hangs his head.  _Please don’t do this,_ he begs silently. What actually comes out of his mouth is a breathy “Dean…”

"I'm just gonna be honest here, Sammy. You were always a burden. You know it's true. You were a selfish, good-for-nothing freak that I was forced to tow around my whole damn life. I never got a chance to live, because  you  were holding me back. But now that I don't have to put up with your pathetic bullshit anymore...now I can live. Now I'm free."

Sam's heart constricts in his chest. "Don't you say that," he chokes out. "Not you...please, Dean, this isn't you." Unwelcome tears well up in his eyes, threatening to overflow. 

They fall as Dean drags the Blade across the width of Sam’s chest, cutting through his flannel and searing his skin. A thin line of blood flows out over the Blade.

"Don't you get it?" Dean’s eyes glint maliciously as he spreads his arms wide. "This is all me, Sammy. The truth and nothing but the truth. I've got no reason to lie."

War rages inside of Sam. His body is overwhelmed by the newly inflicted injury, while his mind is overwhelmed by the crushing weight of Dean’s truth. He can’t face his brother like this.  _Not like this, not like this…_

“You have no idea how relieved I was when you left for Stanford. The only reason I even came back was to use you to find Dad. When I was done with you, I was just gonna drop your ass back off to all that pathetic lawyer crap. But then you just had to come along on the road with me, didn’t you? And all you’ve done since then is drag me down and let me down.”

His lungs refuse to do their job. White spots dance in front of the black of his shut-tight eyelids. His conscience tosses back and forth, desperation hopelessly pleading  _it’s not true it can’t be_ and ruthless self-hatred taunting  _you know it’s true._ He bangs his head against the wall, releasing a groan of distress.

Dean laughs, bitter and dry. His eyes swivel to Sam with a look like fire and broken glass.

“Oh, I could go  on and on  about all the times you’ve let me down, little brother.”

After each fault he lists, he carves another gash into Sam's chest. Sam's shirt is ripped to shreds, torn by the lacerations that paint his body red.

“You let me get dragged to Hell.”

_Slash._

“You betrayed me for that demon bitch.”

_Slash._

“You let the  devil out of the cage.”

_Slash._

“You walked around soulless for a whole damn year.”

_Slash._

“You didn’t even look for me when I got sent to Purgatory.”

_Slash. Slash. Slash._

Sam feels himself falling apart. He knows how much he’s let Dean down. He knows how wrong he was and how he will never make up for it. It’s his greatest sin, the guilt that he feels perpetually weighing on him. Every day he curses himself for disappointing his brother, but hearing Dean acknowledge it is worse than any torture.

_He’s right. It was all my fault. This is my fault. I failed Dean - again._

A continuous stream of tears flows down his face. Fruitlessly he struggles against the wall, his fists twisting as if bound in chains. His attempt to get off of the wall isn’t strong enough to overcome Dean’s will to keep him there.  _Not strong enough. I’ve never been strong enough._

Dean steps back for the first time since he started torturing Sam. The glare he casts him is renewed with animalistic rage. Sam notices fearfully that the hand holding the Blade begins to shake.

“You’re the one who should’ve gone to Purgatory. Even as a baby you weren't pure. Then it was the psychic crap, and then you got hooked on demon blood. You were Lucifer's damn vessel. You’re a freak,” he spits murderously. 

His shaking hand smashes the side of Sam’s face, bloodying his knuckles. 

“I’m not proud of us. I could never be. You’re nothing to me.”

Dean’s fists fly at Sam in a torrent of punches too quick to stop. Blood covers both brothers, dripping down Sam’s face and spattering over Dean’s. Unable to catch a breath, Sam gasps for air and chokes on his own blood. His world spins and his vision begins to fade. Blood loss and devastation drain him, but still he clings to the stubborn little part of his mind telling him to hold on.

It takes him a moment to realize once the punches have stopped. He attempts to set his world straight and take in as much air as possible in the short respite. Through his muddled semi-consciousness, he almost doesn’t notice Dean step away again.

Something shifts in the heavy silence of the moment between Dean’s last action and his next. The monstrous smile returns, shaking Sam to his core.

“Now, I could rip you apart until there’s nothing left...but I’ve got a much better idea.”

Alarm bells ring dully through the haze of Sam’s mind. With the one eye that’s not bruised shut, he watches as the First Blade is lifted once more. Dean slices his own arm open with vicious glee, spilling his blood to add to the puddle of Sam’s on the floor.

Immediately Sam's heart begins pounding faster - both from panic and long-forgotten yearning. One clear thought breaks through his fog:  _No...please, no._

Dean’s voice seems to come from a great distance away as it declares, “You’ve always been a monster, and you always will be.”

The damning words echo in his head as Dean rushes forward. He moves his arm underneath Sam’s mouth and uses the other arm to shove his head down. Frenzied bursts flare through Sam the moment his lips land on Dean’s cut. The last thing he registers before he sinks into unconsciousness is the taste of blood - demon blood.

 


End file.
